


Limitless

by fladoojo



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fladoojo/pseuds/fladoojo





	Limitless

Seven oneshot, AU in which MC is actually an ex-convict forced to confront her troubling past as a result of Seven’s presence, an alternate story of the few days Seven stays at Rika’s apartment.

Word count: LOLOLOLOL rip. It’s so long I don’t know who I am anymore. 50% of this is probably just “…”

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, abuse, murder, suicide, murder suicide, and death. ANGST TO THE MAX. Also, it’s just kinda crappy from start to finish.

A/N: Inspired by how tired I am of Seven saying he’s too dangerous for me. BY THE WAY I did finish, but I started writing this before I did.

 

____________________________________

At the top of your list of overwhelming things that had happened so far was a battle between having had the restraint to not harm Seven’s brother and having Seven repeatedly tell you he was nothing but trouble for you. The number one of second place was Seven’s attempts at keeping you from forming some kind of attachment to him.

“I’ll be over here working,” he’d say, “please don’t bother me.”

“If you need anything, let me know, okay?” You’d reply, sweeping up the rest of the broken glass from the window. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Be careful of what you say to me, please.”

The next day and a half was spent with him telling you to back off and snapping at you if sat next to him or even stared at him for a moment too long. There were moments when he would be okay to talk to you, but those moments ended in frustration as well.

Of course you like him. A lot. You like the version of him that’s bright and smiley and this version of him, as well, had you nothing less than intrigued. Not his story, but him. You knew all too well of walls and disguises put up to protect other people and yourself. But to like someone… It’s torture. Your past life never had room for such affection, it’s such a burden to have it be a part of your life now.

Another thing you knew all too well, of course, was that trouble only attracts trouble. But you didn’t want it to be that way, because nothing good would ever come out of an attraction where both sides exist to cause inevitable harm for one another.

That isn’t who you are anymore, you keep telling yourself. You are not trouble. But would you be okay losing yourself in Seven? All logic points to a loud, resounding NO but you just… can’t… help it… You don’t want to like him. He doesn’t want you to like him. But you do. You are the problem. You are trouble.

You shake your head at the thought, suddenly present. You stand up from the kitchen table and make your way back to your room.

“Are you going to sleep?” Seven asks from his spot in the corner.

“No,” you murmur, visibly shaken by your thoughts, “Just gonna do a bit of work first…”

“Work?”

“I have a life outside of all of this,” you say plainly.

“Of course,” he says.

Whether it’s a life you had suffered so much for or a life handed to you by luck, you don’t really know. But regardless, it’s a life you are committed to keeping. Now’s not the time to be giving it all up for a guy who’s been your life for a barely a week. With that thought, you enter into your room and shut the door quietly as not to further disturb the hacker during his work. Your room is actually Rika’s guest room although you’re pretty sure she wasn’t the type to have guests stay the night. You had a thing about sleeping in beds of the deceased.

You sit down at your desk, pick up your pen and continue on your page, inking in all the lines you left untraced before Saeran had busted through your window. You wish the thought of him hadn’t come to mind, and now your consciousness latched onto it with a vise grip.

Seven hadn’t witnessed what went down between just you and his brother moments before he arrived. He didn’t see you practically beg Saeran not to make you hurt him. Saeran scoffed of course, proceeding to pin you under his hold. You knew what you had to do. All of your instincts were telling you to bring your elbow to his gut and twist his arm behind his back and if he tried to get loose, you could easily hook a leg under his, tackle him to the ground and wrap your hands around his neck and watch the life drain from his eyes.

But you didn’t. It’s been almost three years since you were last in a fight. You had been doing so well, even the mere bite you gave Saeran to make him release you made you feel sick to your stomach. You never wanted to hurt anyone in that way, ever again, even if they were putting you in danger. “I don’t want to hurt you…” Your words repeat over and over again in your head.

If you hadn’t though… Would you have just keeled over and let Saran take you? No… Nothing can be solved through violence, you could’ve talked your way out of it… Right?

It doesn’t matter. Seven came just in time and that’s truly all that did matter. No need to dwell on what-ifs. And now of all times is not to be spent angsting about the past. You have pages to finish inking and emails to reply to and a party to plan.

Your life is so different now compared to what it once was.

Shut up, brain.

Your mind had a hard time grasping the definition of “letting it go.” You are not the person you once were, you don’t even have the same name. You didn’t spend all that time in your prison’s bible study group and, later, therapy for you to unravel because of one altercation that was barely anything.

So keep it together.

“Knock knock.”

Your eyes snap up to your doorway where Seven was standing. You quickly pull a sheet of paper over your work and ask, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he lifts his right hand in which he is holding your cellphone, “You left this in the living room”

“Thank you,” you say as Seven places it on your desk.

“Yoosung called, he wanted to know how you’re doing,” he crosses arms over his chest and leans against the door frame. “I told him you’re okay… You are, right?”

“I’m fine,” you reply almost too quickly to sound natural. He doesn’t push, though.

“Good,” he says, “How’s the book progress?” He gestures to the pile of papers sitting in front of you.

“Oh, uh,” the question caught you off guard, “It’s going well, thank you for asking.”

“I see your updates about it on Instagram,” he says, “but you only ever post singular panels and all the speech bubbles are empty, so it’s all difficult to piece together…”

He pauses.

“Kinda like you.”

Your heart drops into the bottomless void of anxiety. However, you keep yourself composed, “What do you mean?”

“Despite hacking into your phone and computer, there really isn’t a lot of information out there about you,” he says. “It’s strange. People these days feel so inclined to share their whole lives with the world and all you have is an Instagram account full of drawings.”

“I don’t really have a friends,” you shrug. So much for the whole ‘I have a life outside of all this’ thing.

“What about your family?”

“We don’t–”

“–talk much?” he finishes your sentence, “I figured. I read your previous book.”

“You did?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as though it were silly to think he wouldn’t read it, “I don’t get around to reading much but there really, really isn’t a lot out there about you. Your creativity says a lot about you.”

“Yeah, I… I try to aim my stories towards young kids with non-ideal family conditions,” you nod, “I try to let them know it’s okay.”

Seven crosses the floor to take a seat on your bed. Your eyes follow him, causing you turn your seat completely. He looks at you with faint admiration and says, “I could’ve really used a book like that when I was a kid.”

“I figured,” you mimic, “I met your brother yesterday.”

You can tell that he understood that as lightheartedness but nonetheless, his smile is sad and makes you regret saying it.

“So what is this one about?” he points to your work, changing the subject. “No spoilers though, please.”

You mirror his playful expression and answer, “It’s about a girl who lives her life through daydreams and fantasies.”

“Why?”

“Why is it about that or why did I decide to make it about that?”

“Both.”

“Well, because… When you create a story and share it, you can only give what you have. And if you only have daydreams and fantasies like me, then there’s no limit to what you can give.”

“That’s a good answer,” he raises his eyebrows, “I wasn’t expecting it.”

“However,” you continue, “the point of the book is to teach kids how to set their own limits. Because if you overshare, you can end up getting hurt. Or you can end up hurting someone else.”

“That resonates with my soul.”

You laugh at his choice of words. “But it also raises the question as to whether or not we can experience things fully within the limits we set for ourselves.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“For example,” you say, suddenly averting your eyes from his, “I’m going outside of my desired limit to say that you and I have similar limits. You don’t want me to know you, and I’d prefer it if you’d stop researching me. But say there’s a feeling of mutual attraction. Would we be able to have a loving and healthy relationship with the very little we have given each other? That if we manage to accept each other as is, that our relationship would ever progress beyond where we are now?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Because what lies beyond your limits will hurt me and what lies beyond mine will… and that,” you say with finality, turning back to your work, “is where I reset my limit. Good night, Seven.”

He gets up quietly and makes his way back to the door.

“Well now I’m curious,” he says while standing in your doorway once again.

“What’s there to be curious of? You know everything about me.”

“Within the extent of your limits. Okay, yeah, I get it,” he replies, “Good night.”

Torture. You like him, and it’s torture. And now he’s curious which only tells you that he does not seem to like you the way you like him. Regardless of how powerful that desire may be, a desire exists somewhere within him to get to know you. But where you stand, yes, it would also be nice to get to know him, but your desire to remove your own limits are somehow stronger. You want him to know, and that… terrifies you.

You end your work for the evening and venture upon a night of restless thoughts and sleepless fidgeting.

~

You rise early the next morning. 6 AM, in fact, a time you hadn’t woken up at in years. It’s hard to tell if you’re actually tired from not getting much sleep, as you seem to running on sheer anxiety. You know that you need to move or you’ll stay frozen for who knows how long. So you get ready and dressed and decide to go out for a run.

On your way out, you’re surprised to see Seven dozed off in his workspace but you don’t dwell on it too much as you slip into your sneakers and quietly exit the apartment.

You’re not really an athletic person but running helps you to exert all of your pent up aggression, and on this particular morning, there was a lot of it. First of all, the lack of sleep was frustrating and you hated yourself all night for not being able to turn off your brain. Secondly, there was the fact that all of those thoughts were still in your head. Third, the absolutely nerve-racking feeling of your past bubbling up to the surface when it shouldn’t even be in the same universe as you at all. And to top it off, it’s terribly humid outside.

But back to the third thing. You can’t help but wonder what would happen if Seven found out about you. If he would leave or have pity on you. If he would open up about himself in return. That’s one of your fantasies. Both of you letting your guards down and accepting each other’s whole beings and maybe… getting to live that one aspect of a normal life you had always dreamed about as a kid.

But the giant waves of reality come crashing down on you. It would never happen. Whatever Seven had beyond his limits, you’d be able to accept as you had been through the worst of the worst but he would never accept you, because you are the worst of the worst. Your entire life, your identity, it’s all a fabrication. It was all given to you through a small amount of luck and a large amount of money. If it were not for your past, you would have no substance and no depth. But you are not in a position where your past can have any amount of relevance to your present. So here you are, with no substance and no depth.

You try to convince yourself that reinventing yourself takes a long time, and since it’s only been a few years, it’s okay that you aren’t who you always wanted to be yet. But you know deep within yourself, you will never be that person no matter how hard you try. Trouble will find you, and the people you become close with will all suffer, or leave, or die. That is your curse, and no matter how many lives you live, you will never escape it.

Your feet beat down hard against the pavement. Your body aches with pressure but your legs continue to carry you farther. Your thoughts begin to plunge into the familiar irrationality of your anxiety.

This was all a mistake. You should have never joined RFA, you should have never tried to be friends with any of the members. If they get too close to you, they will die, because everyone that has ever gotten close to you has left you in the most permanent way possible and it isn’t fair to put these good people through that as well. You need to call them and tell them you want out. You were foolish to think you could possibly fulfill your desire to help people, when all you do is cause harm.

Your legs bring you to a stop outside of the apartment building, and that’s when you realize that you are crying. Sobbing, even. Tears mixed with sweat mixed with heavy and uneven breaths. You lose blood circulation in you hands and you start to freeze up entirely. Everyone will die. They will all kill themselves, like… Wynn… and Sohee….

“Miss, are you alright?” A hand comes in contact with your shoulder and you jump away with your fists clenched tight at your sides. The small old man looks at you with worry.

“I’m sorry,” you say, trying to ease yourself back down, “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern.”

With that, you rush back into the building and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hello!?” Seven barks on the other end of the line, “Where are you!?”

“Relax,” you breathe. Advice you needed more than he did, it seems. “I’m at the elevator, I-I just went out for a run, that’s all.”

“No, that’s not all! You didn’t wake me up or even leave me a note, I thought someone took you, I’ve been worried sick!”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t–! Are you crying?”

“No!” You say defensively but the hiccup in your throat give you away, “okay, a little, but I’m fine, I swear.”

“Just–! Just get up here,” he hangs up.

You step into the elevator and slump into the corner of the space after pressing your floor number and closing the door. A layer of sweat coated your face and neck, causing hairs to stick to your skin. Your breathing still staggered with tears, and you rub your eyes dry to no avail. It wouldn’t stop.

“You okay, ma'am?” Another man asks you as you step out of the elevator and make your way down the hall to the apartment.

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur before finally getting to the door.

It swings open before you can even enter the passcode. Seven grabs your wrist and yanks you inside just a bit too forcefully. The door closes and you resign yourself to whatever punishment he has prepared for you. You had been through it all; beatings, starvation, confinement…

He pulls you to his chest and wraps his arms around you tightly, stilling your shaking frame. For a moment, you think he’s just doing a really bad job at trying to suffocate you and it takes you a moment to realize that he’s hugging you. It only makes you sob more.

“What, what is it, _____? What happened?” He pulls back to look at you but continues to hold you steady.

You shake your head and remove his hands from your shoulders. The last person who ever hugged you was Wynn and he would never hug anyone ever again.

“_____…” Seven says, “If… If this is about me, I-I told you that we can’t do th–”

“Ugh!” You snap, shoving past him, “Are you really so self-absorbed that you think everything that goes on with me is about you? That I’m like this to get your attention? My life doesn’t revolve around you and it’s better if it stays that way.”

Seven is quick to respond, “You don’t get to say that to me, I’m the one trying to keep you safe.”

“But I don’t need you to, I can take care of myself.”

“You don’t know that–”

“Yes, I do! You’re the one that doesn’t know anything,” you begin to slip further and further into your past self, “You think you know _____ but you don’t know Isla Park and you better pray to God you never will!”

You storm off into your room and slam the door. The feeling of numbness comes back to your hands, you break out into a cold sweat, and you can feel your body grow tired of heaving due to your rapid and erratic breathing but you can’t stop.

Isla Park. Isla Park. Isla Park.

Your feet carry you into your closet where you sit down in the dark, pull your knees to chest, and wait for the attack run its course.

Isla Park.

The name doesn’t exist. It shouldn’t exist, and yet there she is. Reborn into the same blood. The disconnect between her body and her soul was a familiar discomfort, and it was even more distortedly enticing than it was before she disappeared. Now she is fighting to stay.

It’s a lost cause and you know it. You couldn’t fight back. Just like with Saeran, if you fought it would only give her more power over you and she’s immune to words. You had no choice but to let her take over.

Isla Park…

No. She may be able to come back, but you cannot let her near anyone. You would keep her in this closet until you both died.

~

“_____…?” Seven’s voice breaks into your stupor. The light beyond the closet door bleeds through the cracks between your arms, becoming more visible as you slowly lift your head to look up at his silhouette. He closes the door behind him, shrouding you in darkness once again. His leg brushes yours as he sits on the closet floor next to you and you flinch away.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, repositioning himself so he wasn’t touching you, “Can we talk?”

“You must think I’m crazy,” you say, staring blankly pas your knees.

“I don’t,” he says softly, “But I do think we got off on the wrong foot. Can we start over?”

You stay silent.

“I’ll go first, then,” Seven chirps, “I’m Luciel Choi but you know me as 707 in the RFA chat room… My real name is Saeyoung.”

“If this is your way of hacking into my mind to get me to open up to you, please stop.”

“I have a twin brother named Saeran who you met already,” he continues, ignoring your comment, “hopefully both of us will get the chance to get off on the right foot with him, too.”

“He tried to kidnap me. And he’s the one that got me into all of this mess.”

“So it’ll take some time,” he says lightly. “Anyway, it would be an understatement to say that my brother and I have a complicated history. Our lives have been a tragedy since day one.”

“My soul resonates with that,” you can’t help but return. In the dark, you can practically hear his grin.

“Moving on,” he continues. “To get right into it– I met this girl. A nice one, too, maybe too nice. She always thank you for things she probably shouldn’t be thankful for and she apologizes for things she definitely shouldn’t be sorry for. At least that’s how I see her,” he shrugs, “but who am I to really know, right?”

“Right,” you murmur in agreement.

“And I don’t want to like her or care for her because I don’t want her to get absorbed into my tragedy. I’ve kinda tricked myself into thinking I’m pushing her away so she doesn’t get hurt, but there’s also the fact that I don’t want to deal with the consequences that’ll come if she does get hurt because of me… I’m selfish… There’s a twisted part of me that wants her to be at the center of my tragedy, but with an even greater desire to be at the center of hers.”

Seven turns and leans back against the door.

“So what do you want from me?” You ask, though you know that answer already. You’re in slight denial.

“I want you to know Saeyoung,” he says simply. “But I want to know Isla more.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you–”

“No you’re not,” his voice drops to a dangerous tone. He takes his phone out of his pocket and its brightness illuminates his face. He reads from the screen, “Isla Park, born June 11th, 1995. Charles and Eleanor Park, died August 29th, 2000 in a murder suicide, leaving their five-year-old daughter to the provincial foster care system. She bounced between eleven foster homes from ages five to thirteen. Then her trail runs cold. No school records. No criminal records. No death record. Nothing.”

Before you could even begin to respond, Seven rises to his feet, grabs you by the collar with both hands and forcefully turns and shoves you up against the closet door. The action truly frightens you and your hands move up to meet his, trying to relieve the pressure against your chest.

“You deceived me,” he says venomously.

“I-I’m–”

“Don’t,” he hisses, “Normally, I wouldn’t care. People erase themselves from existence all the time, but everything about _____ is fabricated and I know the reason can’t be anything good. You’ve deceived the RFA members too and it’s my job to keep them safe, so start explaining. Does Isla Park’s disappearance have anything to do with Mint Eye? Are you in on this with my brother? Was coming here to protect you a giant waste of my time?”

“No and no for your first two questions,” you squirm under his grasp. “I don’t have anything to do with Mint Eye or your brother, I swear. You probably won’t believe me, but unless your brother somehow accessed my records from thirteen to eighteen– and he shouldn’t be able to because they were all destroyed– then I promise that Saeran choosing me of all people to come to this apartment was purely a coincidence. And even if I was in on it, why would I foolishly hint at a past I’ve been trying so hard to escape to the point where I had to destroy my identity and create a new one?”

“To distract me? To manipulate me?” He says pointedly.

“No! That’s not it, it’s just…” You try to take a deep breath but it’s difficult when you’re also trying not to get your clavicle crushed under Seven’s knuckles, “I really like you! And before I got out of prison, I had this cell mate who was so in love with this guy and she’d tell me all about him and how he made her feel, so when you got here, I was so excited because maybe I’d finally get to be normal and experience those feelings with someone but all you did was build this emotional wall where I’m all alone on the other side, wondering why the only guy I’ve ever had feelings for is treating me this way and remembering things that I’ve been trying to forget for years!”

The words rushing out of you fill you with an odd sense of strength that finally allows you to yank his hands away from you. Your head falls back against the door and you pant rapidly. It would have been so much easier to just knock him out the second he laid his hands on you, but you congratulate yourself on your restraint.

You quickly exit the closet and your lungs are met with new, refreshing air. It gives you the added strength to are your way to the kitchen to get water. You’re exhausted, physically and emotionally. You’re dehydrated from all the sweating and crying and all that was left to come was the crippling headache. If only you could take back the past 24 hours. No… The past 21 years would do it.

Seven appears in the kitchen a moment later when you’re taking longs gulps of water. He has a bottle of Aspirin in his hand from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Silently, he opens it and hands you a few tablets before setting the bottle down on the counter and folding his arms over his chest.

“Thanks,” you say even though you didn’t want to. He waits for you to finish your water before he speaks again.

“So,” he takes a slow stride towards you, “can we start over?”

You glare at him.

“Okay, then we’ll just have to pick up where we left off.”

“H-hey, what are you–!”

In one swift movement, he grabs your waist and lifts you up onto the kitchen counter and then holds your wrists and to pin them on the counter. His lower abdomen presses against your knees to hold you completely in place.

“Let go of me!” You say, resolving to use words instead of punching him in the face for manhandling you not once, but twice, and it isn’t even noon yet. If there was one thing in your past life you had to be proud of, it was the fact that no one ever got away with touching you like this.

“How did you end up in prison, _____?” He ignores you.

“It’s complicated,” you attempt to break free from his grasp but he wouldn’t budge. You’re somewhat curious of the full extent of his strength.

“I’ve got time.”

“What about the security system?”

“Thought you said you could take care of yourself.”

“What about your job?”

“Like I care about my job at this point,” he huffs. “How did you end up in prison?”

You stop fidgeting. What is the point of resisting. You’re both screwed. You’re not dumb, you know that his agency is probably planning to take him out for not completing his work. And if you tell him the truth about yourself, you could just throw yourself into the crossfire and end it for good. Then no one else would ever know. But you couldn’t get wrapped up in his fate, you’d have to figure this one out on your own.

“When I was thirteen I did a lot of bad things, but I got sent to juvie for assault,” you begin. For some strange reason, you suddenly feel lighter but you suppose it’s the Aspirin. “I got into a lot of fights, okay? I was in juvie until I was fifteen and I guess that’s when everything started happening.”

“What started happening?” He pressed.

You glance at his eyes for a moment and finally notice how close he actually is. You’re practically breathing the same air and you can feel the waves of heat rolling off his body, causing sweat to form at your hairline once again.

“I…” You try to remember what you were just saying, “After that, I went to a halfway home and then I got put back in the foster care system. I was taken in by this woman who, at the time, was recently divorced. She had a son, Wynn, who was a year younger than me. They had this really nice house with a really nice yard in a really nice neighborhood but… She wasn’t nice, Ms. Hong… She was not very nice at all. She beat us, me and Wynn… A lot. And even though I could have, I never fought back because I didn’t want to end up back in juvie and it’s not like abusive foster homes were anything new to me.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Seven exhales and by the look on his face, you can tell he really is.

“Wynn, though… He usually took the brunt of all the beatings because a year earlier, apparently, he and his boyfriend were outed to his parents. Wynn was a good kid,” you swallow the lump building in your throat, “and even though he was younger than me, he always looked out for me. Gave me tips on how to avoid his mom, things like that… I really believe that it weren’t for him, I’d’ve end up beaten to death so I always thanked him. We joined art club in high school together and got really close over the span of about a year. He was kind of the first real friend I ever had and even though I was still getting into trouble with my big snarky mouth, I was getting into actual fights less because there was actually someone on my side.

"One day, he had went home right after school instead of coming to art club. He said he wasn’t feeling very well and it would be fine because Ms. Hong was still at work. So when I got back to the house a couple hours later, there was this noise upstairs–” your breath hitched in your throat, “and… When I got up there, I heard Wynn crying so I went into his room…”

All of the memories were pouring into your conscious mind, overwhelming you to an immeasurable degree. There are no tears falling from your eyes, but you feel as though you’re crying. You can barely feel when Seven lets go of your wrists and places his hands against the counter on either side of you. You’re too numb, your whole body.

“He,” you begin again, shakily, “he was standing over Ms. Hong’s body with a hammer…” Your head lowers, absentmindedly trying to shrink yourself inward until you disappear. “I didn’t even think, I just… told him to give me his shirt and to go clean himself up. He kept crying, but I kept telling him I was going to fix it. He didn’t know what I was doing until after it all happened.”

“What did you do?” Seven asks with his voice barely above a whisper.

“I put on his bloody shirt. He was a small guy so it didn’t look too obvious. While he was cleaning up in the bathroom, I called the police pretending to be a crying fifteen year old boy saying that my foster sister killed my mom, and then I hung up. Went downstairs, got Ms. Hong’s car keys and I took off. It was only a matter of time before I got pulled over and arrested.

"They didn’t launch a full investigation of what happened, and I knew they wouldn’t. Between the biological son and the foster kid with previous assault charges, it was obvious who’d be pinned for Ms. Hong’s murder so there wasn’t any point. I went back to juvie. When I turned eighteen, they moved me to an adult facility where I’d spend the rest of my life. And that’s how I ended up in prison. We good?”

“_____, that’s…” Seven grasps for words to say but there aren’t many that come to mind. “Why would you…”

“He was a good kid,” you repeat, “his life just got the better of him.”

Seven shakes his head, “You’re really something.”

“I was.”

“No, you are, trust me. But none of that explains how you’re here now,” he says, getting back on track, “And you’d figure this would have been all over the news but there are no articles attached to Isla Park.”

“It turned out that Wynn’s dad was quite the higher up,” you explain, “he managed to make sure the situation was dealt with in privacy and reverence. Eventually, yes, all records of what happened were destroyed and my past identity fell into obscurity.”

“Okay, then explain that to me,” he demands.

“So… Back to my cell mate in the women’s prison I got transferred to after I turned eighteen,” you remind him. “Her name was Sohee. She was the second real friend I ever made in my life. She had been there a couple months already before I came along, but she was kind of inexperienced so I always looked out for her, made sure to get her out of trouble if she ever got into it. But I really liked her because she kind of a ray of sunshine in the really dull and predetermined life I was living and going to live for the rest of my life.

"She told me endless stories of the guy she was with before she got caught up in her drug charges. He was a lot older than her, I remember, and he had a lot of money to take her on these extravagant vacations and stuff. She always said it was adventure. Eventually she told me his name and who he was and it turned out to be an extremely prominent national political figure that also had sanction over our prison.”

“And?”

“Well, after a while, I finally got my first visitors in jail,” you let out a deep breath. “It was Wynn’s dad and his lawyer. From the moment I sat down to talk with him, he wouldn’t stop apologizing to me. Then he gave me Wynn’s suicide note to read. It detailed everything that happened on the day of his mom’s death and that he couldn’t live with the guilt that I was in jail and he wasn’t.”

Your find yourself speaking with very little emotion even though that particular memory is the saddest one you have. You remember crying a river as you read the note. But now it seems as though the only way to actually tell your story was to turn off all of your emotions.

“The lawyer explained to me that the note would be enough to reopen my trial. They would do a formal investigation and find conclusive evidence that I wasn’t the person who killed Ms. Hong. Then I’d get out of jail and the story of everything that happened would get out as well. And Mr. Hong couldn’t let that happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was running in an upcoming election and the world knowing that his son killed his mother was not a good campaign image. I also had another secret on him that would definitely ruin his chances at the polls if it ever got out as well.”

“And what was that?”

“That he was in a relationship with a woman in prison for drug charges.”

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah… He could have just kept the note a secret and I would have stayed in jail, but he said that he wouldn’t be able to live with that guilt either. So he offered to do me a huge favor. He privately got me released from prison and hired an agency to erase all of my criminal records, every news article that ever included my name, just… everything. Then he had them create new documentation for me under a new name as well as fake credentials so I could get jobs to support myself. He paid for me to move really far away and I was truly and finally free to live a whole new life.

"I wanted to reinvent myself. I promised I would never hurt anyone again and I think I’ve been keeping that promise pretty well. Even if Mr. Hong hadn’t offered to do all of that for me, I wouldn’t have told anyone. Would’ve hated to be in the middle of all that, you know? Several months after I had moved away and things were starting to really settle and I wasn’t so anxious about everything anymore, I found out that Sohee committed suicide too and I kind of relapsed. Mr. Hong’s lawyer reached out to me to explain what happened and to make sure I would still keep everything a secret. She left a note too, saying how she felt so betrayed that Mr. Hong got me out but not her and that’s when I realized that what she and Mr. Hong had wasn’t love. But I still loved the stories she used to tell me, because at least the feelings were real…

"Anyway, after she died I decided to be committed to helping improve other people’s lives. You know, so there are less people in the world that grow up to be like Wynn, Sohee, and myself and to comfort people who have no choice but to grow up that way… So when I got an anonymous text and entered into this group chat where the people in it were offering me the means to plan fundraising parties for organizations that help people improve their qualities of life… I couldn’t resist.”

Having ended your story, you look up to see Seven’s mouth hanging slightly open. You don’t know if it’s in awe or horror, but you take the opportunity to move him away and hop off of the kitchen counter. You don’t really know what do other than try to contact Mr. Hong to see if he’ll help you with your next escape.

You’re about to turn away when Seven stops you and suddenly his hands are on either side of your face which is now turning a very embarrassing shade of red. You had been crying and sweating all day, how could he stand to be this close to you?

“You…” He breathes, “are really something.”

There’s a clear difference in the way he says it now then how he did a number of minutes ago. He says it as though Isla’s story was something you should be proud of, but he doesn’t understand the real effect she had on the people around her.

“The only people I’ve ever been close to took their own lives, so, yeah, I guess I am something,” you say, removing his fingers from your hair. “Trouble. Alone. Messed up beyond all recognition. I have a whole list of all the terrible somethings I am, but I’ll spare you the time.”

He frowns at that, then opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“Now that you know everything, I don’t think I can stay here much longer. So to answer your original third question, yes, it was kind of a waste of time for you come here and try to protect me.”

“Wait, what?” He quirks an eyebrow, “Do you really think I’m going to tell anyone?”

“It doesn’t matter,” even you are surprised by the sadness in your own voice. “We’re both beyond our limits, Seven. One or both of us is going to get hurt. You seem fine, but I’m really not so it may as well be me.”

“No,” he says firmly and immediately, catching you off guard, “I’m not fine and I’m not going to let you keep setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm. I’m sorry that I’m being really aggressive and pushy with you but I need you to understand that you are not a bad person. Isla isn’t a bad person. Can’t you see that you’ve had good, pure intentions from the beginning? You’re not perfect and you made some mistakes, but you have always been a person with a good heart, that is the one takeaway I’ve gotten from everything you’ve just told me.”

“But… Wynn and Sohee…”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened to them,” he reaches out to hold your shoulders, “You loved them, and I understand that. You still want to take their hurt away. But they already did, in the worst way imaginable, in a way you would have never intended for them. And I know that it hurts but there isn’t anything else you can do for them. You gave them everything you could, and I know for a fact that they’ve gotta be grateful. And until you can move on from them, fully, you can’t move on from Isla.”

If that’s supposed to make you feel better, it isn’t working. You can’t halt the tears that start to spill over.

“Listen,” he goes on, “no matter who you are, Isla or _____, you’re a person deserving of love. You deserve someone who you can experience all of those mushy feelings with and who’ll take you on adventures. And yes, your whole childhood was spent in the depths of hell on Earth, but unlike me, you’re free from it. You’re getting to do jobs you actually like and living up to the promises you made to yourself. And you’re twenty-one, you have a whole life ahead of you to meet someone who’ll give you his whole self.”

“But that someone can’t be you.”

You can almost pinpoint the exact moment his heart shatters.

“Am I wrong?” You ask after a moment silence.

“…Yes. You’re wrong, I can be that person.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m not,” he gives a strained laugh, “I’m really not sure, but… You’ve given me this weird sense of hope that I can be free too. I mean, I’ll have to work at it since I don’t have anyone forking over their wallet to clear my ledger, but… I think I deserve it too, to be loved.”

“I know you do,” you say without thinking but, nonetheless, you believe it wholeheartedly.

He gently grabs a hold of your hand. “I’d prefer for us to begin our adventure after all of this over and I have my brother back, but I can’t shake the possibility of something happening to me. To us. So… Let’s start now. I’ve got a lot of stuff to sort out, but there’s no one else I’d rather have me with it through it all than you. What do you say, ____? No limits?”

His hand squeezes yours, bringing it up to his lips. Your heart thuds erratically against your chest.

“No limits.”

“Then there’s something I need to show you,” he says. You suspect it’s the floppy disk he got pissed at you the night before for stumbling upon. “But first…”

His fingers lace into your hair again, gently tugging you closer as he leans in.

You quickly duck out of his embrace and rush out of the kitchen on wobbly legs.

“Gotta shower!” You call as you make your way to the bathroom.

“What?” Seven goes after you, “Don’t be silly, ____, come here!”

“No!” You slam the bathroom door in his face. “I’m gross.”

You start the shower and pull off your sweatshirt, tossing it into the laundry hamper.

“Fine,” he says over the noise of the water, “I’ll just wait right here till you get out.”

You blush from your hairline all the way down to the soles of your feet.

“You’re gross too!” You yell.

“What’s so gross about wanting to kiss my girlfriend?” He says, sending shivers up your spine. “Whatever, have a nice shower. Think of me!”

“Never!”

“Oh, so NOW you don’t want me!?”

Pulling a towel tight around yourself, you yank the door open, startling him. His face gets as red as his hair when he sees you and you reach up to place a quick kiss to his cheek before shutting the door closed again. You can hear him stuttering on the other side as you proceed with your shower.

“What have I gotten myself into?” Seven sighs and slumps against the door.

Oh, he doesn’t even know that half of it.

____________________________________

Trivia and details that didn’t make the cut:  
\- mc has a tattoo on the back of her neck, right in between her shoulders. Probably something weirdly symbolic like an hourglass bc EFF YOU CHERITZ.  
\- Saeran and Mint Eye DO know of mc’s past and chose her as she would be the path of least resistance.  
\- Isla’s birth certificate indicates that she’s actually a year younger than originally thought, meaning that she’s also a year younger than Seven. Her fabricated birth documentation states she was born on April 16th, 1994. He thought she was a couple months older than him and is surprised that she actually isn’t.  
\- She has the same birthday as him and Saeran but they are a year older than her, I tried to make it some weird representation, like they were sent to the world one year prior to her to have a direct predetermined impact on her destiny and blah blah blah, it didn’t work out.   
\- Seven’s big goofy smile when he finds out he and mc have the same birthday.  
\- Seven flipping the fudge out when he finds out mc hasn’t eaten anything all morning.  
\- mc body slamming someone into a wall and Seven being like omg wtf. All that Mary Sue goodtness.  
\- Me rudely interrupting the whole story with a detailed description of how hard I was crying when I finished Seven’s route.


End file.
